


It Started With A Kiss

by shadowsamurai



Category: Foyle's War
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-11
Updated: 2012-06-11
Packaged: 2017-11-07 12:27:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/431192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsamurai/pseuds/shadowsamurai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had started with a kiss.<br/>It would end with a kiss.<br/>And it was all that mattered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Started With A Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> So…I haven't seen any of the latest episodes (I know, shame on me! The last one I saw was 'All Clear'....), but having read TartanLionness' fanfics on the most recent series, I've got a good idea what happened. Good enough to write this little piece anyway! So it I've got something wrong, I apologise. In fact, I'll just put an AU tag on the story!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I'm just borrowing things for a while and I promise I'll put everything back exactly how I found it when I've finished. Well, almost exactly how I found it. ;)

CF-SS-CF-SS-CF-SS

It had started with a kiss.

Actually, if Foyle wanted to think about things properly, it had probably started a long time before, but when he remembered how his life changed, that was the single instant that shone brightly, like a lighthouse beacon showing in the way home.  
And home indeed it was. A home, a life, and a happiness he never thought he would find, or even want, after his beloved Rosalind had died so young. Though Foyle was not a man to be prone to wasting his time on regrets, sometimes he did wonder why he hadn't worked things out sooner. Why he had been so stubbornly blind and wasted so much time.

It started with a kiss.

Sam's decision not to carry on walking out with Andrew hadn't really surprised Foyle all that much; her decision to dance with him when the all clear news reached them had. That, if he was asked, would have to be his biggest regret, not staying and sharing at least one dance with Sam. But he couldn't. Couldn't bring himself to watch her being happy, yet again, with another man, especially his son who had so cruelly broken her heart before.

Then, almost a year later, when he decided to go to America, Foyle realised just how much he meant to Sam. Her genuine shock filled her expression, with tinges of betrayal there for him to see as well. The whole experience had perplexed Foyle more than any other singular situation in his life. From the moment he told Sam to the moment he left England, he was confused. The sea did little to ease his puzzlement, as it was as vibrant and full of life as she had been. Now, as settled as he could be in his new life, Foyle sat on his porch, glass of bourbon in hand, and as the sun set, he replayed the final moments he had shared with Sam in his head again.

His decision to move to America had been easy to make, at least on the surface. And when he told Sam, she had been enthusiastic for him. Supportive, even, though there was a quiet disappointment in her eyes. And that was the first time Foyle wondered if he was making the right decision. It was the first time he allowed himself to see something more than simply what was in front of him. And then there were the instances leading up to the time he left. Sam would just appear from nowhere, for some reason or other, at his house, at the station, at the shop…it seemed like she knew exactly where he would be, even though he didn't have any kind of routine any more. Foyle often wondered what was behind those visits, but at the time he just dismissed them as being something inherently Sam, and that meant no explanation was needed.

The day he had to leave arrived and he wasn't surprised to find Sam waiting outside his house, insistent on driving him to the dock. He had wanted to tell her, with a smile, that it really wasn't necessary, but he found those weren't the words that came out of his mouth. Instead he found himself smiling rather broadly and thanking her for her consideration; he even admitted how nice it was that hers would be the last familiar face he would see before leaving England. Sam had blushed and hauled his case in the car. The drive had surprised Foyle the most; they spent it in silence, though whether it was the lack of Sam talking or how comfortable the silence was that surprised him, Foyle couldn't say. And when they reached the dock, Sam was clearly reluctant to walk away. Again Foyle shocked himself; his own reluctance to turn and get on the boat was not something he was counting on. Even now, some months later, he could still recall the sensation; it was like someone had cemented his feet to the ground. All he could do was stare at Sam, watching the emotions flitting over her beautiful face, telling him ever single thought that was running through her head. And she was staring at Foyle, almost as though she was trying to burn the image of his face into her memory for all eternity.

But eventually, they had to move, and it was Sam who broke the stillness first. Yet she didn't walk away, she took two steps towards him, and   
with a severely shaking hand, placed it on his chest, high up near his collarbone. Bringing her head near his, she hesitated before kissing his cheek firmly, briefly, sadly.

"Goodbye…sir."

Foyle hadn't wanted her to call him that. After all this time, he had wanted to hear his name roll from her lips, but it was too much to hope for. He was, after all, leaving her. Leaning in as well, he returned the gesture, kissing her cheek but lingering for longer than he had prepared to do.

"Goodbye, Sam." As they pulled away, he found his hand rising of its own accord to brush her cheek, and he was surprised at how much effort it took to restrain himself.

It had started with a kiss.

It may have been a small kiss, a goodbye gesture between two people who had been through a lot together and obviously, understandably, cared about each other, but for Foyle, it was the beginning of the end. As he sailed to America, his mind would not let go of that kiss. It haunted him, tormented him, awake and asleep, occupying his thoughts so much that by the time he had reached America, he knew what the problem was.

He loved her.

He knew he shouldn't, knew it was a fool's love, a hope that would never grow to be anything more than a dream, but the feelings were still there. Over the months, Foyle thought about Sam often, and the more he thought, the more he realised he had loved her for a long time. And now he was in America, and she was in England, and as far as he could see, that was the end of everything that never was. He wrote, of course. Sent her postcards and allowed himself the luxury of imagining how she would react when she received one. Would she be overjoyed, and read it again and again until the paper wore out? Would she treasure each card as though it was more precious that life itself or would she simply discard them once read?

Foyle had hoped that he would be able to move on, in time, but with each passing day, his heart ached more, and his thoughts were filled with more images, more memories, of her. For some reason, sunsets were the worst trigger for him; the minute the sun started to descend, casting its golden glow over the world, Foyle was a transformed man. He would stare, transfixed, off into some distant point. People could pass him in the street, wave to him as he sat on his porch, even pass the time of day, and he wouldn't respond. All he could see was Sam, and her voice was all he could hear.

After the sun had disappeared from view, and Foyle's glass was empty, he stood up wearily and took himself back into the house. It suited his needs, though he was still getting used to having so much light streaming in through the windows. The bottle of bourbon beckoned him, but he resisted. He needed to sleep and hope he didn't dream, and if he did, he wanted only dreams of a fresh tomorrow with no more memories of Sam.

Because for Foyle, it hadn't started with a kiss, it had ended with one.

CF-SS-CF-SS-CF-SS

The day had not gone to plan at all. In fact, Foyle decided as he walked home, it had been so far from the plan it was in an entirely different country. One of those 'anything that can go wrong will' days, and he was damned glad it was over. He was tired, grouchy, and generally fed up with everyone and everything. Stopping at the store on the way home, he bought himself a steak, some fresh vegetables, and tea. He looked at the bourbon, knowing his stash was almost empty, but resisted. Drinking wouldn't solve anything. Leaving the store, his bad day suddenly got worse.

It had started with a kiss.

Foyle shook his head. It wasn't her, it was just a woman with blonde hair, who was the same height and build….

The woman laughed.

Foyle dropped his shopping bag, and the bottle of milk smashed, drawing everyone's attention to him.

Including the woman's.

Who stopped laughing immediately and stared at him.

He stared right back.

It had started with a kiss.

Instantly, as their eyes locked, Foyle was back in England, on the dock, Sam not two inches in front him, so close he could feel the heat radiating from her body. He was brought back to the present sharply by that same warm feeling. She was here, in front of him once again. Foyle blinked. Somehow, he had started to cross the street and Sam had met him halfway. He didn't know how he had got there, hadn't even realised his legs had moved, but he didn't care. He had one thought on his mind, but there was something he had to check first.

Sam answered his question before it was fully formed in his head by holding up her left hand. And then, just for good measure, she held her right one up as well, grinning as she did so. Ring free, both of them.

"So…?" Foyle started to ask.

Sam shook her head. "Nope. Couldn't."

"Why?" He didn't want to know the answer unless it was….

"You."

…That one. "Me?"

Sam nodded, then looked nervous. "I'm here to stay…if you want me."

"If I want you?" Foyle repeated incredulously. "My dear Sam, I was a bigger fool than my son when I walked away from you and left England, but unlike Andrew, I learn from my mistakes."

"I shouldn't have let you go," Sam replied, smiling. "I should have held you prisoner in your own home forever."

Foyle smiled back. "You would have tried."

"I'm very persistent."

"Yes, I have noticed." But before Sam could reply, Foyle reached out and took her hand, albeit hesitantly. "Sam…Miss Stewart," he said more formally. "When we were on the docks, I realise now there was something I very much would have liked to do. Will you permit me now?"

Sam laughed. "I have no idea what you just said, sir, but the answer is yes."

"Firstly, my name is Christopher. You don't have to call me sir any more."

"Habit. The answer is still yes."

For reasons unfathomable to him, then and for the rest of his life, Foyle was nervous as he lifted his hand to caress Sam's cheek. She was so young…but as he looked into her eyes, all he could see was her love for him shining there. She may have been young, but she had seen and experienced things that had matured her far beyond her years, and Foyle knew Sam would regret nothing of being with him. Leaning in, he kissed her on the lips, intending on it being a chaste affair. But Sam was having none of it. Encouraged by the cheering and catcalls of the crowd they had gathered, she slipped her hands around his neck and held him in place for a proper kiss.

Behind them the sun was starting to set.

It had started with a kiss.

It would end with a kiss.

And it was all that mattered.

FIN


End file.
